


Burn In My Bloodstream

by xanderwilde



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Gen, Heavy Angst, Internal Monologue, Memory Loss, Mentioned Bruce Wayne, Obsessive Behavior, Oneshot, Other, Post-Episode: s05e07 Ace Chemicals, Pre-Batman - Freeform, Pre-Joker, Pre-finale stuff, Recovered Memories, Ten Years Later, Time Skips, meaning he's mentioned a lot because jeremiah has a one-track mind with these things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 12:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanderwilde/pseuds/xanderwilde
Summary: At first, he hadn’t remembered. They’d moved him to Arkham after he woke up, stuck him in a dark cell and left him to his own devices. They kept guards posted by the door day and night, afraid he would try to escape.No fear of that.He barely opened his eyes these days. Sometimes he thought his heart would stop beating altogether.(Oneshot, Jeremiah's POV leading up to the S5 finale. Title comes from "Bloodstream" by Ed Sheeran)





	Burn In My Bloodstream

**Author's Note:**

> im really sad about gotham ending and i wish we'd had more jokermiah in the finale so i wrote this

_This is how it ends_

_Feel the chemicals_

_Burn in my bloodstream_

_Fading out again_

(Bloodstream, Ed Sheeran)

 

 

_Gotham falls, we rise._

_Together._

_It was supposed to be together._

We _were._

Ten years, and he was still gone. No one knew if he was coming back. No one asked.

_Where are you?_

\+ + + + + + +

At first, he hadn’t remembered. They’d moved him to Arkham after he woke up, stuck him in a dark cell and left him to his own devices. They kept guards posted by the door day and night, afraid he would try to escape. 

No fear of that.

He barely opened his eyes these days. Sometimes he thought his heart would stop beating altogether. 

He hadn’t remembered that night on the catwalk, hadn’t remembered the way it had rattled precariously beneath their feet, the railing swaying before it cracked with a sound like a gunshot. He hadn’t remembered the endless moment of freefall before being enveloped by the acid below, and he didn’t understand why his skin never stopped burning like someone had lit it on fire and not bothered to put it out. Not even the morphine-filled IV bags that connected to his arms with wires and needles could dull the burning.

But he didn’t care.

The days stretched on in a neverending blur, stretching into weeks and months. He still couldn’t remember, and he didn’t know what he’d forgotten. The guards decided he wasn’t a threat, and they let him sit in the corner of the rec room during the day. The other inmates watched him nervously at first, as if they were afraid he would suddenly leap out of his chair and claw them to pieces. Their words, hollow and meaningless, echoed in his ears. _That’s Jeremiah Valeska._ But soon enough, they realized he wasn’t going to fight them. 

Better yet, he wasn’t going to fight _back._

They would creep up to stare at him, try to catch a glimpse of life in his bloodshot, clouded eyes that stared at something they couldn’t see. They’d dare each other to touch him, see if he’d bite back at them, rip their arms off, maybe. 

He never did. 

They grew bolder, tentative touches turning to slaps, sometimes punches. Proving to themselves that _they_ had beaten him. That he was powerless. If he laughed anymore, he would have. He could have killed them all, if he wanted to.

He just didn’t care.

The pain was nothing compared to the poisonous burning that ran through his veins, and _that_ was nothing compared to the gaping hole inside him that he didn’t know how to fill because he didn’t know what it was from. 

So he endured it. Endured, and tried to remember why he didn’t care.

Then one day, one of the guards who was inspecting the rec room walked past, a newspaper in one hand. The headline glared out from the front page in bulky black lettering.

“ _New Wayne Enterprises Begins Construction.”_

_Wayne._

_Wayne._

The headline seared itself into his brain, sparking a memory he didn’t know he had.

_Wayne Plaza._

_Thomas._

No, that wasn’t right. 

_Bruce._

His breath hitched, his heart beat painfully in his chest.

_Bruce…_

He almost blinked, his eyes almost lost their vacant stare. _Where is he?_

Jeremiah remembered, remembered the fight above the chemicals, the green reflection of the acid below shining on their faces in wavering poising-colored light, remembered the figure standing on the edge of the catwalk, staring down at him as he clawed his way to the surface, lungs on fire and eyes stinging and his entire body going slack as he sank back under, the figure fading away like a dark shadow.

_Where is he?_

The guard hadn’t moved, and Jeremiah’s eyes latched onto the words beneath the headline on the newspaper. _“Bruce Wayne’s whereabouts after his departure from Gotham are still undisclosed.”_

He couldn’t feel his heart beating anymore, and his few, straggling thoughts blurred together. _He left. He’s gone._

His eyes clouded over again. He remembered, but it didn’t matter. Why should it matter, if Bruce was gone?

He was the reason for all of this, and he was gone.

_Abandoned us. Abandoned me._

His thoughts faltered, and his blank expression twitched. _But…but we…we were supposed to be bound together. He knew that. He knows that. He can’t be gone._

_He has to come home._

_Someday, he will come home._

_And I’ll be waiting. I’ll always be waiting._

_\+ + + + + +_

Sometimes she visited him, disguised as one of the nurses at Arkham. She’d stand in the opposite corner, staring like she couldn’t believe it was him, couldn’t believe he’d become so lifeless. He never paid any attention to her, even when she crept closer and laid a hand gently on his shoulder, trying with a pathetic sort of desperation to elicit some sort of reaction.

_Mr. J., it’s me. Ecco. You remember me, don’t you?_

He wouldn’t even blink. He remembered her all right, but that didn’t mean he cared.

He’d stopped caring about anything.

\+ + + + + + 

It had been ten years. Jeremiah kept waiting. Wayne Enterprises was rebuilt, the city was flourishing. Arkham was still a madhouse. Everything had changed, and nothing had changed. 

It was nighttime when he heard the news. The guards outside his cell were talking about something that Jeremiah didn’t give a second thought to, their murmured voices creeping through the door. He stared blankly at the wall, the familiar cracks spiderwebbing through the concrete as familiar as the acid burns that still scalded his skin. They’d forgotten to refill the painkiller in the IV for the past three days, but he said nothing. As always. 

“…Bruce Wayne is coming back to Gotham.” The guard’s voice cut through the fog of his mind like a razor-edged knife, and Jeremiah felt his breath stutter to a halt.

Just like it had, ten years ago, as his lungs had filled with chemicals and he’d last seen the dark figure of Bruce above him.

_Bruce._

“Just in time for the opening of Wayne Enterprises. No one’s said anything about where he’s been, but it’ll be good to have him back.”

“Yeah, it’s about time.”

Jeremiah clutched the armrests of his chair, pain exploding in the palms of his hands and racing up his arms. He welcomed it. He could breathe again, and the cold, sterile asylum air had never been better. A choked, broken semblance of a laugh rose in his throat.

_It’s about time._

He heard the guards outside pause. “Did you hear that?” It was followed by the scraping of a key in the lock. Jeremiah let his head loll to the side, willing the sudden brightness in his eyes to fade. The door creaked open and one of the guards looked in.

“Nah, he’s still out of it.” He jostled Jeremiah’s arm roughly. “Aren’t you, Valeska?”

The other guard stepped into the doorway. “Come on, let’s go. Nothin’ new to see here.”

They slammed the door behind them, the lock clicking shut. Jeremiah listened to their steps fade away down the hall. He raised his head slowly, tilting it to stare out the high window that looked out on the dark, smoke-tinged sky outside.

“Bruce Wayne.” His voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and unsteady from years of disuse. He smiled slowly as the emptiness inside him disappeared like it was never there, swallowed up with a fire that burned stronger than any chemicals. He laughed again, _really_ laughed this time, just like he had as they’d stood up on that catwalk ten years ago, staring at each other, realizing that this, _this_ was their destiny. 

Because even after everything, even after ten years of emptiness and darkness and silence, even after ten years of agonizing _waiting_ as his hope slowly drained away and time ticked on with unstoppable determination…even after all of that, they were still connected. They always would be, after all.

_Oh, Bruce…_

_Now it_ really _begins._

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if there are typos, I wrote this really quickly. R&R, comments and criticism are appreciated! :)


End file.
